A Bad 5 Days
by kanndavidson
Summary: After barely escaping with their lives, the brothers are faced with another nightmare. A human monster from Dean's past comes to strike when he is weakest. Dean might not survive this one. Will Sam be able to save his brother? [DEAN WHUMP galore]. Hurt Dean/Protective Sam. NO PAIRINGS. NO SLASH. hurt/comfort.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Some may consider this violent. There is no restriction on swear words used. I beat up Dean pretty good... but come on, who doesn't enjoy that :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural. Supernatural was created by Erik Kripke – it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain to be made from this transformative nor will any be sought. This fanfiction story is for entertainment purposes only.

ENJOY! :)

...

"I got an idea. Let's never do that again."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Even then would be too soon."

The Impala jerked to a stop.

Dean looked to Sam with utter lack of amusement, then out at their crap motel. He got out of the Impala on his third attempt, shutting the door with force and a few expletives. Sam couldn't help but chuckle before also making his exit. His brother was extra crispy. Never mind they both looked like stumbling definitions of exhaustion. Physically, mentally, they were empty vessels in desperate need of a recharge. In fact, it was all Dean could whine about for the last hour when he wasn't blankly staring through the windshield. Somewhere between pissed and weary. On the opposite end of the spectrum was Sam. He couldn't help but find humor in it all. It had almost broken him. He had to find humor in it or….

"Hey now…" but Sam was cut off.

"Shut up. Shut up. For the love of… just shut up. Okay… I want to die on one of the Escanaba's lumpy ass mattresses. Call it a good run." Sam chuckled. But Dean's word choice had him swallowing down bile. Sam shut the car door.

The comedy Sam found in the situation was forced. They were both alive, that is what matters, but neither was in good shape. It wasn't humorous but humor was coping this time around. Sam wrapped his right arm around his abdomen to keep from jostling his shoulder and lend protective comfort to the abused flesh. Dean in contrast had perfected dead-eyed exasperation over the last 18hrs to manage. It has been a long 4 days.

By the time Sam reached their motel room door Dean was just getting it unlocked. _Yes, he's hurt but…_

"What's wrong grandpa?" Sam asked before catching a good look at his brother. Dean wasn't focused on the door. He was staring out to the west side of the parking lot. Sam followed his gaze but only saw the tail end of a navy-blue Chevy pickup pulling out. _ END4515._

Sam wasn't even sure his brother had realized his presence, so he grabbed the door and turned to enter. Startled out of his thoughts, Dean jumped and Sam saw the alarm in his eyes. Not to mention he was two shades whiter than only minutes ago. Dean swallowed and pushed past Sam mumbling something as he went. Sam looked back to the parking lot. He saw nothing unusual. Casting a contemplating look at his brother's back, he squinted in thought before closing the door. Dead bolt and chain latch secured.

"What was that about?"

"What was what?"

"Oh come on Dean, I saw your reaction to something out there. What was it?"

"I was waitin' on your slow ass."

"What was in the parking lot?"

"Cars Sammy. Cars are it the parking lot."

"Dean cut the crap. Is it something I need to be aware of?" Dean paused in his search through his duffle. His hand clamped down on the shirt it was holding until all his knuckles were white. Sam could almost feel the cranks of his brain turning over. Dean's body tensed from head to toe. But it was brief, easy to miss if you hadn't been watching for it.

"Stop with the questions Samantha. My head is already pounding like 12 merry men are dancing on my brain." Dean coughed. Sam paused. However, he wasn't convinced. Dean turned from his duffle with his arms out and a slight bow, face painted with sarcasm.

"May we get some rest now?" He quickly dropped the charade. His normal expression, or lack thereof really, was back in place as he slowly marched to the bathroom. The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up. He felt a chill snake his spine. He turned slowly towards the only window in the motel. Dean was keeping something. While Dean keeping secrets is like saying the sun rises, this one, this one felt dangerous.

Dean looked in the mirror. A black eye. Lip split twice and chapped almost beyond repair. He was whiter than normal but that is a typical symptom of blood loss. His right hand went down to his side where Sam had already expertly sewn 26 stitches. The movement reminded him at least two of his ribs were broken. He gripped the sink with both hands as he fought his lungs to work. But it was the bruise around his neck, thick and dark, broken veins, that twisted his stomach most. Made his voice hoarse. Made it hard to breathe if he wasn't concentrating. He had been strangled before. This encounter was worse. Dean's legs were threatening him with weakness. Particularly because his right knee was swelled to the size of a bowling ball. Dean exhaled slowly. Shutting out the site of his ragged appearance.

There is something about being reduced to nothing by another person that exhausts in immeasurable ways. It hurts the mind. It shreds a part of the soul. Worse yet, Sammy had been there.

The warm water helped. He felt slightly human and was able to limp to his bed without too much effort. Carefully lowering himself to a seated position, sleep beckoned with the power of a short mini-skirt and push-up bra. But Dean ignored the pull.

"How are you feeling?" No response. "Dude."

Dean was seated on the end of the bed holding his jeans. Not occupying the same brain space as the rest of reality. He was lost somewhere else… somewhere worse.

"Dean!"

"What?... I am fine. Wanting to get the hell out of here and unwind actually." His words still sounded so strained. Like lungs that had seen more tobacco then clean air. It had only been 72hrs since…

"What?! Really?"

"Really."

"I must have missed something. You have been nothing but whining about getting here and now you want to leave?"

"Am I speaking English?" With that Dean coughed. It sounds like a choking engine. Raspy. Sam cringed at the sound, fighting off flashbacks. It took Dean everything he had to not grasp his knees as he fought for breath and to beat back the tearing pain that clawed down his throat. But he wanted out of here. Needed out. He wanted Sam to go with him. Any sign of further weakness and that wouldn't happen. So the barbed wire lacing itself expertly throughout his torso would just have to be ignored.

"Dean. What is going on? We are both beat to hell. Haven't slept in three days... not to mention… And you want to go hit on girls and down some beers?!"

"Dashing as ever…"

"Girls and booze? For real?"

"Wow Sammy, proud of you." Dean winked. He was patronizing him. He knew it. It was an attempt to detract from the issue at hand, which unfortunately Sam still had no idea what was.

"Have you seen yourself?" Sam regretted the words immediately. He had meant no harm but they hit hard. Dean looked hurt. Was hurt. Hell, fucking beat down. He also looked like he was trying to convince himself he wanted to go. Before Sam could fully dissect his expression, Dean burst up, jeans on, shirt in hand, and was headed for the door, keys jingling.

"Let's go Sam."

"I don't want to go out Dean."

"A beer will do you good. You'll sleep better. Trust me."

"Dean, I could sleep in a subway right now…. Dean, you almost… you almost died… please." Dean looked down, thought working on his face.

"Come on Sam." The slight whisper of defeat rested on Dean's shoulders. He left.

"Dean. DEAN!" Sam called after him but Dean had shut the door.

"Dammit!" Sam dashed for his duffle to grab a clean shirt as fast as his battered body would allow.

Dean stood outside the motel room door. He wanted Sam to catch up. To come. He didn't want to be alone. Not now. Standing outside in the cool breeze he fought for control. It was a long time ago. _It is in the past_. Just as Dean was breaking into a cold sweat, he felt air shift from the opening door behind him. Dean could feel the weird face Sam was making at his back. _I really got to get a grip on this situation._

"Took ya long enough." Dean quipped as he walked for the car. Not even paying Sam a glance. But Sam saw it for what it was. He also saw the liquid beading on the back of his brother's neck. He felt like shit himself. It was understandable that Dean would be struggling. But this was something different. Dean was used to pain and managing it, of going through hell and climbing out. He would complain about it. An extra layer of cockiness would wash his demeanor to make up for a lacking physical capacity. He would make Sam's life miserable until the memories were locked away. Now though, he looked beaten. Like a whipped dog. No one passerby would likely notice. Lucky for Sam, he couldn't help but notice.

"Alcohol and the pain meds you took aren't normally bunk buddies Dean... Not to mention your throat…" Sam lectured. They were both seated in the Impala, yet to leave the lot.

"Debbie downer man, for real."

"Dean, you have a 4inch stab wound in your side. Alcohol thins the blood. You have multiple contusions and we are both concussed off our asses. You sound like you swallowed all the gravel in Michigan. This is a horrible idea." The engine turned over and Dean backed out of the parking lot.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Nope."

"I don't understand. You showed zero interest in going out this evening. In fact, to quote, 'I am gonna fuckin' sleep till me ass hurts' were the words you used on the drive here... What happened in that parking lot?" Dean turned up the radio in response. His expression was hard. He was forcing a rigid exterior and indirectly lent a confirmation, something serious happened and something about that parking lot triggered the memory. Sam ground his teeth. He was a little too tired to hike the impossibly treacherous road that was getting information from his brother about the past. So, he leaned his head back and tried to sync Metallica with the pounding drum in his brain because the cacophony was a bitch. _We are getting a beer and leaving this town. He won't tell me what is wrong. Fine. But he isn't staying at that motel. We have had enough crap._

The bar was crowded. _Great._ Sam followed Dean more out of habit then conscious thought. Dean weaved through the see of drunk adults expertly, limping heavy on his right. Forcing a spot at the bar he ordered two. Once served, they journeyed to the back where there was the nastiest, smallest cocktail table Sam had ever seen.

"Feeling better yet?" Sam's nerves were wearing thin.

"Give me a minute. Got at least two more lined up after this…" Sam held his beer tightly in hand, stomach swimming at the thought of drinking the amber liquid. Dean did not suffer this affliction. His first beer was gone and he was making his way back to the counter without a word. Sam glanced around. It really was crowded and noisy. But everyone looked to be having a good time. Smiles all around.

Sam was bumped from his thoughts when the table wobbled with the impact of Dean's return. He had a mug in each hand.

"Dude." But Dean didn't acknowledge him. His eyes looked lost. Far off. Perhaps concussion. Perhaps something else.

"Dean!" Sam tried more sternly. Dean looked up from a half drank glass.

"Seriously? What is going on? Stop lying to me."

"What?" Came an innocent reply. _Like he has no idea what I am talking about…_

"You need that much?"

"Lay off dude. You just went through the same thing I did. You don't need this much?" Dean asked with a smirk as he swigged the remainder of the glass in two gulps. Sam swallowed. He didn't go through what his brother just did. Not exactly. Not at all. Guilt crept its way into Sammy's conscience. Maybe he was being too hard on Dean. Maybe. But that look of terror from the motel came crashing back.

"Level with me. After everything. We need to be safe for a little while. We can't fight another war right now." Dean eyed Sam. His expression read that his thoughts were bumping along a path they had yet to take. Contemplating a possibility. Then Dean blinked, swallowed, a decision had been made.

"… I choked. I screamed. I lost the fight… Is that what you want to hear?" Dean's face was stricken. Sam considered backing down. His mind viciously threw him back into that warehouse and the sounds of the bar melded into an overwhelming volume of what he had been forced to hear. But a man that could turn his shoulder on the past 72hrs with no problem was stopped fast in his tracks by a history summoned from a parking lot. So, Sam's anger at being left in the dark remained.

"You are fighting a different memory. I don't care how you deny it, it's true. Drink what you need, because you sure as hell won't tell me about it, but I am not gonna stand here and watch. Stumble out the front door when you are ready to go." Sam wasn't sure what he was feeling. He wanted to grip Dean in a hug and simultaneously beat his ass himself. He was sore and tired, and his head fucking pounding. He set down his glass, untouched, then turned to depart. As he left, he heard Dean call a question after him.

"You going to finish this?" Sam growled. He exited the bar without looking back and assumed position in the driver's seat. Dean was so distracted by _whatever_ that he didn't even notice Sam snatch the keys.

_Good. Right in the front of the door so when he does finally stagger out we leave. _Sam thought. He laid his head back and thanked everything for peace at last. No music. No conversation. No laughs. No grunts or cries of pain….

Dean finished Sam's beer and the second one he had brought over. The room was swaying. Visually and physically it seemed. The music, the lights, the people, they were all twisting and dancing together. Dean braced both hands on the table. _Sam is right. _

He swallowed heavy. Fuck this concussion. Dean hated concussions. It was like being on a slow rollercoaster. You are without the option to get off while your thoughts slowly flip around refusing to make any logical sense.

He closed his eyes. He needed some control. Suddenly, without permission, the content of nightmares struck broadside… _Sitting outside in the cold. Tired. It was 2am. Then he couldn't breathe. A rigid box that kept sending him rolling from side to side. Crashing into the walls drove the air from his lungs. Ropes. So many. A light that was too bright. Begging. Someone was crying…._

Dean's eyes flew open. He was breathing heavy and drenched in a cold sweat. The world had sobered up a bit. The suffocating fog of nausea being replaced by pain's cold hand wrapping mercilessly around the back of his neck. A relentless hammer chipping at his skull. Dean needed to get out of here.

The bartender waived to him, motioning to ask if he wanted another. Her cute smile was tempting but he cut across his throat indicating he was done. She paused in her motions and frowned. He winked at her. His normal self would be all over the opportunity but right now he needed to get Sam and get the hell out of this town.

His stance uncertain, right hand pressed over his stab wound, he headed for the door.

"Hey!" A man barked who was in the middle of performing a dramatic story on the confidence of too much whiskey. Dean had bumped him in the narrow walking path, spilling that confidence.

"Sorry… Let me…" Normally Dean would have told the guy to suck it. But he didn't want to fight. Couldn't fight. Not win, anyway. He reached for his wallet. A quick $5 and adios. As soon as his hand wrapped around the worn leather, four knuckles collided with his face. Dean felt the already bruised skin, sensitive and tender around his eye burst open. To him, it was a miracle his eye didn't slip from his skull. Followed by connection with the hard ground. _Why is gravity never on my side?_ His reflexes too slow to make a grab for any bystanders or tables in an attempt to keep footing. A kick to the ribs. Another. Dean was in a haze. He attempted to fight back briefly but was quickly overcome. _Again._ Ribs cracking from the abuse and mind in complete disorder. Dean was slipping between the past 72hrs and the present. It was violent. He wasn't sure if it was the memories giving him whiplash as they came and departed or the rocking of is head as it was slapped side to side.

_Gonna die in this town anyway. Dammit Sammy. You are going to think I started this. I didn't. You were right. Yeah, yeah, you're gonna let that go right to your head. But it's true. Shouldn't have come out tonight. Needed something to help with the reminder though Sammy. I couldn't face it on my own. _

"Break it up! Anything like that is done outside." The voice was far away. Dean wanted to ask whoever to please speak up. The abuse stopped though and for that he was grateful. He realized at that moment that a guy stood on his right wrist while another held down his left. He was nearly spread eagle with an uncontrollable shake in his shoulders. _Pathetic. _

As soon as the pressure released from his arms he had planned to attack. His body had different plans. It would not respond to command. He was at their mercy.

Time, Dean realized, must had slowed somehow because every sound he heard was deep and drawn out. Like listening to something in slow motion. He was trying to open his eyes. He needed to see. To know where he was. Was he back in the warehouse? The bar?... the box? Dean's heart was hammering. He could feel each pulse as blood gushed out accordingly through the gash on his face. His lips felt like Dolly Parton's looked, way too big.

Hands of strangers under each arm and he was being drug along the bar floor.

"You ain't out of this that easy." The breath clung to his face vs washing over it. Too much alcohol caked with tobacco. The words felt like they stuck to the side of his head. The pavement outside definitely felt harder than the wooden plank floor. The gravel bit into his back upon impact. In that moment, he knew what it felt like to be meat in a tiger's cage. He also knew where he was, and between the three options he preferred this one.

Two men descended on him in a furry. Chest. Abdomen. Thighs. Face. Neck. Nothing was off limits. _Sammy. Please._ Dean felt more liquid washing over his face, down his neck. He wasn't sure if it was blood, the men's spit, or his own tears. _Sam... _Dean was desperately trying to turtle in on himself. To protect the worst vulnerabilities. One particularly well-placed punch found the stab wound. He clamped his tongue between his teeth. He might not be in control of every reaction his body was having to this onslaught but he could control that.

_Sammy. Be done with all this eh. Go back to Stanford. I'll be watchin ya… especially how you treat that car. Don't want you having to suffer this crap alone. Ya hear me Sammy. Get away from all this. _

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" The hammer of a pistol clicked. It was a subtle sound but one that resonates with commanding authority. It accepts nothing less than recognition. A car horn blared and the sun was suddenly out. Feet shuffled. Some mumbles. Then, nothing.

Sam was dozing in the car. The bar seemed safe enough. No one cloaked in the typical 'ready to kill you' aura. He was content Dean was exactly where he wanted to be. Maybe needed to be. Plus, if Dean required his aid the Impala was right up front. Cell phone ringer on.

Sam heard a thud accompanied by the ruckus of an alcohol riled group. His eyelids slid open. The bar door had been swung with force into the wall as six men tried to come through the opening all at once. Sam was about to grumble irritation when Father-Time intervened. Sam's stomach dropped. Dean was tossed flat on his back. Limp. All Sammy could make out was blood. Then two men descended on his brother like vultures. They were too quick. Sam felt he needed to barf by the time his hand finally reached the horn and switched on the flood lights. His actions were enough. Startling the pack to pause their assault.

The two hovering over his brother were squinting into the light. Sam appeared as a black shadow in contrast. A demon, ready to kill. Sam's pistol was in hand before he realized he'd reached for it, thumb cocking it on its own accord as he braced his arms on the open driver side door. Again, he didn't recall having opened it.

"I will sink a bullet in any one of you. Don't test it." The words were venom. Threatening. Dead. The men understood the tone: stood and quickly disappeared back inside.

Sam was to Dean in two bounds. He froze. Sam shuttered and dropped to his knees. He looked like a crack addict who had just dropped their hit. Frantic and not sure what to do first. His hands were shaking. _This is too soon. I can't do this again only a day later. Dean. What the hell man. _Sam reached out slowly for a pulse but again paused. The intensity of the bruise wrapping his brother's neck was stark in the light. Sam's teeth ground together with anger and rage. Boiling conditions were reached. He swallowed back bile that wasn't helped any by the thick, lingering smell of his brother's blood. Choosing carefully where to check for life, Sam closed his eyes as he counted slowly to ten. It was nearly seven seconds before he felt a beat. At this point Sam was ready to crack. He wanted to beat Father-Time as well for slowing everything down so drastically. It was giving him too much time to think but not enough to act.

Dean coughed. Choking. His chest shuttered. Sam rolled him to his side, watching as blood and saliva came pouring out of Dean's mouth. The broken man continued to fight for breath. Sam contemplated for only a second before squarely palming Dean in the back, making him cough again, better clearing his air way.

"Dean. Dean can you hear me?" Dean's eyelids fluttered.

Sam chanced a look down below Dean's waist. There was nothing visually alarming. Blood at Dean's side quickly theorized torn stitches. _We need to get out of here. _His shirt was torn as well, most visible skin underneath covered in blood or purple or red with inflammation.

A moan from Dean's lips pulled Sam's attention. It was raspy. Strained.

"Dean? It's me okay. You are going to be okay." But as Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder Dean cried out and tried to pull away. It wasn't a sound of pain, more a feeble war cry. Dean's evasive efforts were poorly executed. Sam chalked it up to confusion. This was too much too soon to put someone through. _You should have been honest with me… I am so sorry for leaving you Dean. I knew you were struggling with something. _Sam felt salty liquid wet his eyes.

Looking at Dean's face, there was a huge gash under his eye. It appeared the skin had burst. Though there were plenty other bruises and cuts, it was bleeding the heaviest. They needed to go, now. A terrible sinking feeling was settling in Sam's gut. Breakdown was threatening though he was trying his best to bury it.

"Dean, we need to go… I hope you can hear me. I am going to pick you up. We need to get in the car."

Sam grit his teeth. His Adam's-Apple trembled in his throat. He reached for Dean's legs and worked his arm beneath his back. It wasn't smooth. It wasn't easy. Dean's breath kept hitching which confirmed for Sam that the damage done to his ribs was immeasurable. The blood that was now collecting on the front of Sam's shirt was also screaming severity. Sam wasn't sure if Dean had punctured a lung or if the inside of his mouth had just been shredded from the abuse.

"Dean, man, hold on. Ya hear." Sam's words shook. He managed to open the back door of the Impala and get Dean across the seat. Blood was everywhere. Painting the leather, making it slippery. It looked like a Saw movie had been filmed within the small space.

Dean's eyes kept opening and closing, like his mind was trying to function out of stubborn habit. Sam knew he wasn't actually seeing. Nothing more than colors and blurs anyway. As Sam drove his hearing was specifically tuned to the station of Dean's struggle. His brother wasn't getting enough oxygen. He knew what a dying man sounded like.

Looking through the rearview, Sam barely recognized his brother. He was so broken. Sam wanted to kill. Kill anyone, anything that tipped the scale to bring his brother to this point. Again, Sam's eyes were met with the salty liquid. His thoughts slipped. _When Dean was hanging… and they were hitting him… and Sam was wrapped to that beam. He remembered the firm resolution in Dean's eyes. He would not break to their will. He would fight no matter the expense to save Sam's life. That is where he pulled his strength. Tearing his own throat. But the actions didn't come without consequence. Dean screamed. Again and again, as Sam screamed and the captors laughed. _

"Dean? We are almost to the hospital." The gas pedal was pressed to the floor. Engine straining. Yet still, loud and clear, were his big brother's ragged gasps. Each one a plea for help. His head lolled with each bump in the road. Only minutes from the ER overhang, Sam heard mumbles from the back seat.

"Dean?!" Sam wanted to pull over. To grab Dean's hand and tether the life in him to this earth. But there wasn't time. Nearly swerving off the road in attempt to hear what his brother was saying, comprehension escaped his grasp. Then nothing. No more wheezing. No more gurgles. No more hazed eyes dashing behind swollen eyelids trying to find a way out of the nightmare.

"DEAN! NO! DON'T YOU DARE YOU HEAR ME!"

Sam entered the hospital parking lot on two wheels. It was a haze of chaos as the nurses paused, looking in the back seat at a sight that could be described as no less then a horror. Doctors, medical supplies, orders, everything buzzed around Sam's brain like a fog.

_"He's choking on his own blood. We need surgery prepped STAT!"_

_"Suction!"_

Dean hadn't even been wheeled through the he double doors before a large nurse was performing what looked to be chest compressions. Sam wanted to tell them Dean had broken ribs. But couldn't find the words. The group was gone after a single blink anyhow. Leaving Sam standing on the curb, weak in the knees and trembling.

"Sir. Sir. We need to get you inside. What happened? Who was that you brought in?" Sam was just staring at the back seat. At the blood. He could still see Dean lying there, his hand limply hanging in a way that seemed would break his elbow.

"Sir!" Nothing.

"Sir can you hear me?" The world was shaking… No, he was shaking. Someone was shaking him.

"Sir if you can hear me you need to respond."

"My brother. He is my brother."

***  
Sam didn't know what happened to him. He was shuffled this way and that. A needle in his arm. Burning randomly all over his body as wounds were cleaned and bandaged. Constant questions that he couldn't be bothered enough to listen to. Sam was waiting to hear one word and one word only….

"What is your name?" This was a new voice. More calm. Deeper. Commanding in comparison to the many nurses who had been prodding him for hours. Sam looked up with dull eyes.

"Your name?" The words were calm but wanted to be answered.

"Caliber."

"Mr. Caliber. Who was the man brought in with you?"

"My brother." Typically, Sam would be frantic. Would be pacing and demanding information. But this time, he was afraid. He couldn't ask for an answer that he didn't want.

"What happened to you two?" _Lie. _His brain reminded him. But why? Sam didn't have the energy.

"We were… We… We were picked up. By seven. By seven men. A warehouse. They…" Sam's bottom lip trembled. A tear washed his pink cheeks.

"Why would someone do this to you?" Nothing.

"Mr Caliber. Why were you taken?" As unstable emotions go, Sam's suddenly switched to anger.

"You think I fuckin' know why?! WHY?! Tell me! We were at a bar. We minded our own business! They hit him. They kept hitting him. They wouldn't stop. I begged for them to. I begged. They stabbed him." But the anger was short lived. Sam was exhausted. He collapsed back into the chair he had occupied and pulled his long legs into his chest. Doctor forgotten.

The doctor's heart squeezed with remorse. He had been handed this case with reservation. Young kids these days. Always starting trouble. Lying. Drugs. Drink. But the raw plea for comfort from this young man nearly cut off his airway. The boy couldn't be older than 20 years. He was scared. He was hurt. The next stop for the doctor would be the police.

"Son." Nothing. The doctor walked around to Sam's line of sight. He kneeled.

"Mr Caliber. What is your first name?" Sam just blinked. Slow. Defeated.

"What bar?"

"Oliver's. On 2nd."

"When?"

"Four days ago now." The doctor swallowed. They had beat that man for four days?

"I am going to talk to the police. I believe you." The doctor patted Sam's knee as he simultaneously used it to rise.

"My brother?" The question as weak, small.

"He isn't out of surgery yet." Sam didn't flinch.

As soon as the doctor walked out of the room, he nearly collided with the officers headed in.

"Hold up gentlemen, if you would. That young man in there is hurt. He is in no mental state for questioning."

"He is going to have to tough it out. Shouldn't start something you can't finish." The doctor ground his teeth. He was usually standing from the same point of view. But Sam's cries washed through his soul, he knew these kids were nothing more than victims.

"Not this time. These two young men were taken at Oliver's four nights ago."

"How do you know that? Is that what he told you?"

"Yes. It is. I believe him. Give my experience and professional occupation some consideration. Believe me. Leave him alone and find the bastards who did this."

This would be too easy the man thought. Like birds for a picking. Whoever had gift wrapped this prize so nicely surely deserved his appreciation. All he had to do now was wait till night fall or early morning. When the shifts thinned out and the officers went home.

The middle-aged man with a scruffy face and grey hair kicked back on the bench. He had a clear line of sight to the ICU room that one special man occupied. He heard the nurses say he just came from surgery. That should present no problem. Perhaps a few more waiting hours but there are ways of waking a person up. A smile found the old, wrinkled lips. Yes, yes indeed. The fact he had found him, had another chance. It brought a deep warmth to his belly. Patience would not be a problem.

.

.

What did you think? Please review. Started to write this piece for my sister and she said to publish it, so, well. Here ya go! Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading! I have a part II planned. STAY TUNED! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** some may consider this violent so, beware. And enjoy! ;)

**Disclaimers:** Please see first chapter

...

_No. No. Dean! Leave him alone! Stop it. Hey, hey, come on. Dean! NO!_

Sam nearly slipped from the chair that was holding him. The fog of nightmares was clinging about. Echoing in his ears. Keeping him enveloped in a darkness. Thick. Nauseating. Uneasy and unable to find a clear thought, a quiet whoosh of moving air hit his senses. At the door was a short nurse with a full-face. She was just staring, with perhaps concern and pity.

Sweat was dripping down Sam's forehead, along his neck. It did little to cool him. Surely, he looked a mess.

"Mr Caliber, your brother has been out of surgery a good number of hours. He is beginning to come around. Thought you may like to be with him when he does." Sam pushed to stand before she had finished.

"Take me to him." Sam hadn't meant to fall asleep. Truly. But even as he found footing his own state became readily apparent. Every bruise, two broken ribs, and sliced back were clamoring for attention. The pain barreled into his chest full throttle. Eyes squeezed shut, he took a moment to gain control. It felt like being caught on the shore right where the waves meet the land, repetitive swelling abuse.

"Perhaps a wheelchair Mr Caliber."

"No. Take me to my brother." Sam released his death grip from the chair and forced one foot in front of the other. It was wobbly, the wall keeping him upright.

"Just in there…" The nurse pointed to room 14. Sam nodded his thanks. A few deep breaths and he reached for the nob.

"Hold Mr Caliber, a minute, please." It was the doctor from last night. He stopped in front of Sam, face pulling with concern when he saw the black smudges beneath Sam's eyes, the sweat, and hunched posture.

"How are you Mr Caliber?" _How am I? _He should have already been with Dean.

"Fine."

"Surely… May I speak with you a moment? Perhaps check your wounds?"

"A nurse checked them last night. If you have something to say about my brother, say it." The doctor snapped his tongue. These were delicate cases. Sometimes allowing the patients to choose their course of healing was the best even if not the wisest.

"Your brother has been out of surgery for nearly seven hours…" Sam cut him off.

"That long!" Sam reached for the door handle again but the doctor grabbed his forearm.

"Do you want to know?..." It was reserved. There was warning in the tone, a wariness that was hoping for one answer over another. Sam's heart trembled. He leaned against the wall for support while this stranger held his arm.

"Very well. He has six broken ribs. Only the second time in my career I have seen that much damage. Like he was hit… Ah never mind that. His right lung was punctured twice which is why he was coughing up so much blood. There is tremendous bruising over his abdomen with a few small tears we were able to correct. The kneecap over his right knee was dislocated, the swelling severe. There were some ligament tears. It is still quite swollen. Dedicated attention will need to be paid if full mobility is hoped for." The doctor paused. It was Sam's turn to grab the doctor's forearm.

"What else?" The doctor looked up.

"He has a fractured cheek bone on the left. Broken nose. The damage to his throat…" Sam ground his teeth.

"It is extreme. We had some issues with inflammation throughout the night… He is breathing without assistance but shouldn't try to speak… Mr Caliber. This list is long. I must ask. Were you with your brother when they… When he sustained these injuries?" Sam felt he was punched square in the chest. He tumbled head over heels before colliding with a solid metal beam. He was chained. When Sam looked up, it wasn't the hospital hallway. Nor the doctor.

_There were four men. Three were standing. One hanging from his hands, bound together over head. Toes barely on the ground. _

_"You pieces of shit had nothing better to do on a Friday night?" The man earned a punch to the gut. Another. Another. Another. The man's body tried to ball but it was an impossible venture, knees barely rising towards the chest. A smile met the captives, no rebellion lost. _

_"Dean!"_

_"Ah Sammy, no need to worry. These three are what? Forties? Eh, yeah. If not fifties for you." Dean smirked. Both his feet lashed out as his hands grasped the ropes and pulled. The kick knocked a man to the floor. Startled courage punched Dean twice in the face. Dean tried to spit the blood at his attacker, but it was side stepped. A man assumed his rear, grasped his hair, and pulled back. Dean chuckled. The elder man, QR as he had been called, was not phased. The cool air of control was suffocating. QR was going to get exactly what he wanted and knew it. Goosebumps ran rampant over Sam. _

_"NOOO!"_

_QR grasped Dean's exposed throat and squeezed. Dean's face flushed red. Veins pulsing on his forehead, temples, behind his eyes. But it was the choking sounds that raised bile from Sam's stomach. _

_"Hit him!" The punch was solid. Deans head still cranked back by his hair. QR's hand still wrapped around his throat. When the air was driven from his lungs Dean tried to gasp but choked. He was staring QR down, locked in an intense battle of will. But this was dragging on too long. Dean tried to draw air into his starving lungs. His body shifting without authority, like a worm on a hook. The body always wants to live. It overrides thought and command in desire to sustain. Dean lost eye contact as they rolled to the ceiling. QR barreled twice more into his stomach and released. Dean's head flopped to his chest. He coughed and choked. Wheezing filled the warehouse like a broken record, skipping and erratic. _

_"DEAN! NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" _

_"Shut that one up." Sam had no ability to fight back. Chained down like an animal. He was fitted with a gag like a horse with a bit._

_"And you, shed his shirt." The order was followed. The shirt now lay in torn strips on the ground. Dean's abdomen already red from the abuse._

_"Ah, now that is better. We can see the beauty in it all. What do you say?" Hellfire in the form of fists rained down upon Dean. Dean was trying to hold on, but everything was fading in and out with each strike. Dean struggled to pull oxygen into the abused capsule._

_"Again!" _

_Sam would learn to hate that word as he screamed himself mute behind the gag. Straining against the chains. 'Again' meant the choking. It meant his brother's head cranked back to such an angle it seemed the neck would snap. It meant a hand wrapped around his throat. Mocking him. Screaming at him. Degrading not only his body but his mind. Dean was hit. Over and over, always to the gut. Fist after fist found him. Sometimes while he was choked, sometimes while he was desperately trying to breathe after a 'session' only to make it impossible. _

_"You are a weak man. Mr Winchester. Like your daddy."_

_Time was fluid. Washing by without notice. Dean found Sam at one-point, locked eyes. It was confirmation he would hold on as long as he could. Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks. _

_"A waste of flesh. A waste of breath. That is why I steal it from you now. Because you don't deserve it. You don't deserve to breath. To speak." QR back handed Dean across the face. Dean's head flopped without resistance. The wheezing had transgressed to dying pleas. Raw. Shallow. _

_QR grasped Dean's chin in his right hand, forcing his line of sight to Sam. Dean saw Sam. Sam could see the recognition in his half-closed eyes. The full of Dean's weight dangling from his wrists. _

_"You see him? Huh? You recognize that face? I hope yes, because he will watch you die. Then he will be killed. Same as you. Without air in his lungs." To this Dean tried to rally. But strength had been beaten from him. Choked from him. _

_"You may not deserve to speak. But you deserve to beg. Beg for his life." Sam's eyes cut cold. He wanted to chain this main behind a truck and drive until his memory was forgotten. Dean was backhanded across the face for a second time. His lip split and blood dropped to the floor. _

_"BEG!" Dean lips were so swollen, his mouth packed with cotton. Nasty tracks of broken blood vessels snaked their way up and down his throat. His face blotched blue and red and purple. Moving air was like swallowing razors. Slicing new tracks of agony on every pass. Sam could see Dean trying to work his lips. His Adam's apple bobbing slightly._

_"We can't hear that my friend."_

_"P…." Dean drug in a breath._

_"Pl…" Dean was fighting. Fighting to breath. Fighting to hold up his head and keep his eyes open. Fighting his words._

_"Plee….." But he couldn't. His lungs were failing him. Couldn't work his tongue. _

_"Ah, well. Change of plans boys." QR was swift. Without warning. The knife in his hand sliced into Sam's shoulder. Sam was unchained from the beam. There was a tussle, but he was overpowered. Hands yanked high he now mimicked his brother. Sam's back was to Dean when QR continued. _

_"You see. You see that flesh is now my canvas. Fresh. Unmarked. Every time you fail. Like the failure you are. Your brother will feel it." Alarms wailed in Sam's ears. He tried to twist in his bonds but was held firm by the minions. He couldn't see Dean's face but could feel his pain. His brokenness. This would kill Dean. It would kill Sam in the end too, but not in the mangled manner that Dean's soul would be delivered to heaven. _

_"Very well." Sam bit the gag. He would not make a noise. Not a one. _

_The slices were shallow. Some long. Some short. _

_"Please…" The word sounded like it came from a corpse long dead, hitching in the middle._

_"Please what?"_

_"I… I… I b-b-eg you…" Like a rusted, unoiled hinge. _

_"Yes. You beg. For everything now you will beg."_

_"My… My… br-br-r-other." Tears were slipping off Dean's lashes. Sam couldn't see them._

_"AHH!" _

_Sam bucked free of the minions' hold. Twisting, he struggled. Kicking and flailing. But the knife had already been buried in Dean's side. The blood ran freely over QR's hand, down the handle, to the floor. Sam could hear nothing but the freight train plowing through his head. Why was everything so loud. What was screaming? Who was screaming?_

"Mr Caliber! MR CALIBER!"

_Sam's world was shaking now. _

"Mr Caliber!" Sam looked up. The doctor looked on with pent concern.

"Mr Caliber. This is too much for you now. I must order you back to your room." Sam yanked his arm free.

"I was with him. I saw. I don't give a shit what you want me to do." Sam opened the door to Dean's room. Entering, it shut quickly behind him.

Dean's eyes were open. He saw Sam and it was like watching paint poured over a canvas. The wash of panic was indescribable.

"Ah. Perfect. Someone to witness our little… reunion." Sam was hit over the back of the head and barely registered meeting the floor.

…

The doctor shook his head. Those two young men were suffering. The youngest, locked away in his mind that had yet to process the trauma. It would take a while before the suffering ended. The way they must recover though is together. Privacy. Not a bunch of strangers poking them endlessly with tests and questions. So, he walked off. He would return in a few hours. It was morning. There were new patients. Nurses rotation was coming in nearly an hour. Either man could beckon for assistance should there be a need. With content, the doctor left the ICU room cloaked by a sign, shut curtains, and closed door at the end of the hall.

.

.

Authors note: I think there will be only one more chapter. But I also thought there would be only two chapters in total... So. You know the drill. Let me know what you think and I will write till the cows come home. Lol. Hope you enjoyed the second installment. Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning:** Again. Violence. What can I say? Swear words? Likely.

**Disclaimer:** please refer to the first chapter.

** Also, I thought I would mention. This story is set somewhere in season 1. When our boys were young in the world of evil. **

...

"Hmm. Big one ain't he? Hmm. I want to take my time… Oh, don't worry Dean. Hmm. Just you. Always you…" The man licked his teeth.

"Now, we will never have enough time in this room. No. Hmm. Nurses shift switch is up soon. We'll take advantage of the scarce floor."

Refusal to experience this man again, to have his brother involved, radiated in waves of anger and hatred from the eldest Winchester. But in the end, the fiery rebellion was cast in shadow by his inability to protect the tall, young man crumbled on the floor. The inability to protect himself.

…

The world was just dawning morning light when Dean first realized he wasn't dead. Cracking his eyes revealed only blurred colors. His mind was void of thought with nothing to grab on to. Like a snail pulling itself along the rough ground, Dean was nothing more than pulsing sensation. Instinctively a groan tried to welcome his presence to the conscious. He nearly passed back to the darkness. His hands were useless as well to clear the eyes of their murky state. So instead, panic started to mount him.

_Where is Sam? We made it out. We made it out... Sammy? _Dean could feel his heart rate rising. One by one, snippets of the last four days fell together until the entire story had been reassembled. Bile filled his mouth. Burning his throat. His soul had tried to shield him, but the mind wanted to remember.

_The bar… A hospital?_ Suddenly the odd sounding birds made sense. It was the beeping of monitors. Monitors hooked to him making sure he was still alive. A presence. _Sammy?_ A hand caressed his forehead. Blind still by the medication, the hours of unconsciousness, he didn't see it coming.

"Dean. I have missed you. Hmm." Dean's heart stopped. If life was normally a train indefinitely moving forward, his was just derailed in screeching alarm. Everything became just that voice. Those hands. The memories. _Blink faster. Clear the fuck up. Why can't I see? _

"Oh, oh, don't panic. Hmm. That will be no good. There you go. Rest easy. Hmm. Your eyes are swollen. I want you to see me as much as I have wanted to see you. Hmm. But take it slow. That's it." Dean's stomach was rolling. He needed to vomit, thoroughly until this man was washed away, but knew he would drown on it. Dean tried to pull away. _Damn my neck. _

"Don't turn from me, boy. Hmm." _Get away from me. I will shoot you, you son of bitch. I am older now. _

"I am sorry to be catching you at a time such as this." The man was looking Dean over, grabbed his chart.

"You were put through hell son, hmm. Leaves me little playroom. But we can come up with something. The cold again? Hmm." Dean shivered involuntarily. _Wake up Sam. Get us out of here. _

…

It was like being on a battlefield. Covered in blood and grime, horrors and embers raining down. Constant, unpredicted explosions nuking all except the intense ringing of agony. Unable to call for help because there was no one to hear the muted words. Dean was jostled, right and left. He couldn't hold on to constancy. Light. Dark. His chest ablaze, his head cracked in two, a rope around his neck. The world was getting colder and darker. The bright sun replaced by intermittent stars that only dimly lit the eyelids vs washing them red. And it was raining. Or dripping. Dean couldn't tell.

…

"Dean?... Dean?... Hmm." There was a snap.

"Hm? Oh, what?" Sam jerked awake, head swinging to the side. It felt like electricity was climbing up his nose and racing along every nerve in his brain. He blinked. Then again. Things were dark. Concrete below his feet and making every wall. In front of him, just five feet away…

"DEAN! Dean, can you hear me?" Sam was ducking his head, trying to grab his brother's half lidded eyes.

"You bastard! He can't be seated up. He is hurt. Untie him!" Sam could see the sheen of sweat warning his brother's state.

"Now, Sam, right? Hmm."

"Listen, I don't know what my brother did or said at the bar. But there is a better way to handle this. I will help you and get you whatever you want. Please."

"Bar? I am not sure what you mean. Sam. Hmm." Sam's jaw locked. He looked closer at the man. He wasn't one from the warehouse. In fact, he wasn't one Sam had any memory or familiarity of. To win in these situations required outthinking the captor. Or battling your way out. Sam looked back to Dean. He knew how hard he was fighting. Fighting to breath with the rope wrapped around his chest, securing him to the chair. Fighting to keep his chin from resting on his chest. Fighting to open his eyes. Sam hoped he couldn't hear their words, was numb until Sam could kick this fucking week into the past.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Well, truth, I wanted to…. Use your brother again.. for my.. experiments. Hmm. Advancements in science they are."

"Get the fuck out of here. Let us go and I won't kill you."

"Come now Sam. You don't even know me it seems. Your brother never told you about me?..." The man turned from Sam and closed the short distance to his other captive. He grasped Dean's hair and pulled his head up. Memories came roaring out of the past and struck Sam broadside. His vision flashing between then and now. All the words jumbled.

"Dean. My boy. Why didn't you tell him? Hmm. Wanted to leave me the honor? Knew you would always find me again?"

"Get your hands off of him!"

"Now stop shouting Sam, or else I will have to end our discussion. Hmm. And that I truly don't want to do." Sam's temples were pulsing. His eyes bloodshot from straining against the bonds. The man released Dean's head and it dropped back, rolling to the side on a limp neck. Dean choked. He eyes flying open for a moment given the violence of it.

"I told you. He is hurt. Please. What is this about?"

"Sam, you would never be able to enjoy the beauty of this without knowing how it started."

"The beauty in this, is I have seen your face."

"Your daddy actually led to our meeting you see. Hmm. Yes. On a cold winter night, January I believe, right there in Wisconsin." Sam's mind turned into a rolodex, spinning through every hunt, every town, searching for any memory of Wisconsin.

"He was cold. Huddled at the bottom of the motel room door. An easy catch. He fought me, not yet knowing the importance of my work. The part he would play. He became proud I like to believe, of the role he served." Dean coughed, his shallow breathing slowly degrading to wheeze like gasps.

"He needs to lie down! You FUCKIN BASTARD! His throat will swell shut. Stop this. Please. Please!"

"Sam. Now, I have already told you. Dean and I have work to be done. Should he slip away from us, it will be a benefit to the cause. Hmm. So, stop with the shouting." Expletive flew from Sam's mouth. It wasn't like him, but any man has their breaking point. Sam had met his line hours ago and this man's words had just pushed him over. But Sam came up short. Instantly silent. It sounded like grunts more than anything. Dean's head was resting to the side, on his shoulder. His eyes open, as much as they could be given the swelling and bruising.

"Dean!"

"Dean, my boy. You did not tell your brother of me." If Sam didn't know better, he would have fell victim to the remorse in the man's voice. Sam wanted to slit his throat. On another day, such would scare him. Such rogue feelings and disregard for human life. But the words were getting worse, revealing things meant to be forgotten. With every one dredged up Sam wanted more to bring about a painful end to this man. Sam looked to Dean. Dean's eyes were ice. He wasn't looking at Sam. He was looking at the ghost standing in their midst.

…

_Dad had said he was dead. He had promised he was gone. He promised would never… Not again._

…

"Hmm. Yes." Sam watched the man's eyes. Saw the way they were almost raping Dean with interest. Possibility shone so brightly it brought a sick light to the dank basement. A slight shutter run through Dean's shoulders.

The chair San was tied to was rocking back and forth with his determination to be free. Dean tried again to speak.

"Don't Dean. Don't." Dean found his brother. Sam latched on to that, same as he saw reflected in the other man's eyes. Off a near utility shelf the man grabbed a roll of duct tape. Its tearing echoed about.

"NO!"

"There ya go. Hmm." The wheezing sound was cut off.

"Take that off of him!" Dean barely flinched. He was still watching Sam. Trying to speak to him in the only way he could. But Sam wasn't going to accept that. After everything, after all the crap, this was not the end.

"Hmm. From your chart I know your nose and cheek were broken. Pity." Dean was suffocating. _Again_. Sam wretched onto the floor beside himself. The slices in his back flared with fresh intensity. He could almost feel his arms stretched overhead instead of bound down by his sides.

Sam spit the last of the acid from his mouth. Everyone froze. It was like a switch. The sadistically calm exterior of their captor cracked into anger. His fist clenched, he lunged at Dean. Strike after strike pummeling his abdomen. A few to his chest. Dean's eyes crinkled, eyebrows pulling together. His head rolled back. He cried out, best as a man behind a gag could. The sound was like a kicked dog. More whimper than anything else.

"Please. Please. I beg you. Stop it. Please!" The man backed away.

"Sorry Dean. Had to get that off my chest. You ran away. Hmm. You had to know that shurking your duties would bring… consequence. Hmm. But that is behind us now. All done." That man sounded like a parent who had just taught their kid a lesson. Back to business as usual.

"So Sam…"

"Take the fuckin gag off of him!" The man raised an eyebrow and looked at Dean. Blood had begun to drip from Dean's nose. There was blood from torn stitches on his hospital gown.

"Perhaps your brother is right." Tape pulled away unceremoniously, blood immediately spewed from Dean's mouth. Dean hacked until Sam swore a lung would land in his brother's lap.

"Now Dean, why didn't you tell me you were truly this bad off?"

"You are despicable. You know that? I have fought a lot of evil in my life, but you make the top of the list. You are going to rot in hell you son of a bitch."

"Ah, Sam. Let me correct you, hmm. I am an intellect. An advanced mind. A little history. For good measure, to make sure you don't interrupt." The man slapped the same piece of duct tape he had pulled from Dean's busted lips onto Sam's face. When he saw it wasn't sticking, another was put over top. Sam closed his eyes. Dean's head was still tipped forward, blood dripping from his bottom lip. Eyes closed.

"So, where was I, hmm? Yes. Wisconsin. January."

…

_There had been shouting in the motel, room 213. It had been going on for hours. An older man vs a younger. Some things were broken. Perhaps a fist or two was thrown given the grunts that slipped under the old door. Hours later, seated at the base of that door was a boy. He was dressed in only jeans and t-shirt. Too little given the time of year. Everyone heard the words that accompanied him to that reality. _

_"Get the hell out of here and cool off!" There was a shove. Door slammed and lock was thrown. The boy beat on the door. _

_"Leave him alone! Go sleep it off!" _

"I saw this from the parking lot. I was passing through, hmm. But left my room on account of the yelling. Was about to pull from the place when I saw your brother forced outside. Intrigued, I waited. But hours past shivering, he had not been permitted back inside. He refused to leave. I was worried he wouldn't make it through the night. So, I _persuaded_ him to come with me."

_There was a box in the back of the man's truck. License plate END4515. Blindfolded, hands bound, Dean found himself shoved inside after too much colloform had dulled his abilities. _

"Yes. Hmm. I picked him. I saved him. You see… He would have frozen to death refusing to leave, now who I can only assume, was you…"

_The house was a nice little cottage home. Warm. Right where anyone would like to be on a cold night during a Wisconsin winter. Except Dean found himself on the outside of the house in only his boxers. Hands bound in front of him they were secured to a post. He could even wrap himself in his arms for comfort. So instead he pulled his bound wrists to his chest, kneeling in the snow to try and escape some of the winter wind. The man watching intently from his kitchen window, clip board in hand. _

"We learned many things together. How long till a man starts shivering in the cold? Until he stops? Until his lips turn blue? Hmm. Then how to pull a person back from the brink. When they are too cold to stand. Or to move on their own. When you must be careful because the cold had set into the skin. The bones."

Sam tried to ignore the man's words. He was watching his brother. Praying for help. Wishing. Chanting. Anything. Sam wanted to send all the strength he had to the man who had raised him, saved him, now slowly suffocated on his own blood. Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as more of the words penetrated his barrier. As both brothers got closer and closer to not making it out alive.

_There was a wood burning stove in the cottage. Heavy, thick towel racks behind it meant for warming clothes or drying them. But this day, Dean found himself chained to them. It was hot. Too hot. He was drenched head to toe. Boxers clinging to his legs. How could one want warmth so badly when they are cold then yearn so desperately for cold when they are being burned alive? The metal was heating up too quick. The boy could feel the shackles branding his wrists._

"But it is not only the cold we must be concerned with. Hmm. It is also the heat. How long until one sweats? Until the skin bubbles? Until they cry out for relief? When is a man's breaking point? This of course can be coupled with other factors that fluctuate the outcome, hmm: no food, no water, sleep prevention. What do you think Sam? Does it hurt worse to have your arm slit and salt applied? Or finger slowly broken in a vice?"

Sam would have spit on the man. Stuck his fingers in the man's eyes. Made him choke on them. Broke each leg, each arm, then pushed him from the roof. Sam's imagination was breeding the worst horrors. But he couldn't do any of them. He was helpless once more. Worthless. He looked away from the man back to his brother. _Why didn't you tell me man? In the parking lot, that night. You noticed the truck, didn't you? We would have left Dean. I would have drove until the Impala quit out vs risking you having to see this man again._

The man got in Sam's face. So close. Sam pictured it. Over and over. Pulling out the man's eyes. Cutting out his tongue.

"You brother cried out. For you. For his dad. Him and I, we got to serve science together for nearly three weeks. Not much left to him unfortunately, when your daddy finally found us. Hmm. All that work…. But now, I get to finish what I started. My research is not yet complete. What happens to the body when it dies? Hmm. Can you really see a person's light fade from their eyes?

Sam slammed his head forwarded into the man's face. The man stumbled, swearing. He backhanded Sam. Once, Twice. Three, four. The fifth didn't land. There was gun fire. Everything happened too fast after that. Sam's head was spinning. The mantra wouldn't quit. _Stay with Dean. Stay with Dean. _His eyes would lose him behind dark shapes rushing about, sending distress up his spine.

A familiar voice cut the fog.

"Sam. SAM! Can you hear me boy?!" It was Pastor Jim_?... Jim? _

"Sam!" Sam didn't want to pay this fake Jim any mind. Where had Dean gone? He was no longer tied to the chair. _DEAN! DEAN!_ Everything faded to away, like water rolling down a window.

.

.

There ya go. I did it to myself again. There will be another chapter/epilogue type thing. This is the longest 1 chapter story I have ever written. LOL! I hope all who read enjoyed. This was not beta'd. My apologies for any typos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings:** Have you read the first three chapters? Yes. The warnings are the same.

**Disclaimer:** Please refer to the first chapter.

...

"Dean!" _Why the hell are there so many people in the way? What is up with the lights?_ Sam was slipping in and out of consciousness as hospital staff rushed the two men from the basement back to ICU. Sam wanted to ask where they had all been when Dean was choking. When Dean needed help and no one cared to show up. Every time Sam came back to reality though he was calling for his brother.

"Sam. Sam. Listen to me boy. You both are alright. Dean is alright." But Pastor Jim's words imposed little soothing.

"We need to sedate him." A nurse grasped Jim's arm. Asking for permission without words. Jim offered a slight nod. Sam felt a sharp sting in his arm.

"Deannnn!…"

…

"What the hell…" The world was too bright. Too noisy.

"Easy there. You sound barely better than you look boy." That voice sounded familiar. _Jim? Wasn't I just dreaming about him?_

"Where am I?..." Sam was still trying to pull himself from the murk bogging his mind.

"Hey, don't try to go too fast. You were sedated." Alarm bells sounded. Sam tried to sit straight up, still working his eyes in hopes of clarity.

"Just needed to be able to take care of you is all." Jim rose from his seat. Silence. Not a breath. Not a blink. _Dean. _

"Where is he?" Jim wasn't strong enough or tall enough to wrangle the kid giraffe back into bed. Sam almost hit the floor upon standing but it didn't deter him. He brushed Jim aside and fell into the door.

"Now listen here young man…" Sam looked over his shoulder. Eyes hooded by drawn brows.

"… I will take you to your brother. But you have got to pull yourself together first." Sam swallowed. He straightened up and with a shaky hand, brushed through his hair.

"You two have been through hell, haven't you?" Jim didn't need an answer. Nor did he get one. John hadn't told him much. Just that a job went sideways and he needed to get to Battle Creek as soon as he could.

Jim led Sam down the hall, Sam ignoring his offers of assistance.

"Leave us alone Jim…." It was an order, a question, a plea all rolled into one. Jim hadn't seen the boys in a long time. He had a long running relation with John but the damn guy moved around so much, the boys knew him primarily by name. Nothing more. The role he played in their youth was a different life time.

"I'll get coffee."

…

"Dean?" Sam was seated alongside the bed. He needed Dean to open his eyes and ensure that everything would be okay. But Dean didn't. He just laid there. Pale. A large, mottled band of blue and purple decorating his neck. Bruised face. Still bloody lips. Sam's chin trembled. He grabbed Dean's hand.

"I am sorry brother. So sorry. I couldn't stop it. Any of it…" And at that moment, Sam broke. Because his brother was broken. In more ways than one. Because they were both hurt and exhausted and… alone. There was no one there to pick them up. Dust off their knees. Set them straight. They would do it alone.

Sam cast eyes back up to Dean. The tears slowed. Sam rested his head on his folded arms at the base of the hospital bed. Sleep was swift.

Pastor Jim found them in this position upon his return. He watched them for a moment. They were not little boys anymore. Young men. Young men fighting so hard in a world that would forever try to tear them down. It was heartbreaking when paired with the image before him. Two souls who needed to heal, who needed their father. But instead, it would soon be a car with no destination stumbling blind from one pocket of evil to another. Jim set down the coffee and exited the room to take up residence on the bench in the hall.

…

"Saa..mm..yy." Dean tried to lift his hand. In response he only got a twitch from numb fingers.

"Dean..." The word was strained from sudden wakefulness. Sad. Scared. Sam was pulling himself up slowly. The scabs on his back tearing. Every movement hurt. Yet, it barely made his radar.

"How are you feeling?" Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam interrupted.

"Never mind…" Dean's eyes were barely open. His skin ashen except for the pink cheeks from fever. Yet there was intense focus where his little brother was concerned. Sam knew what he wanted to ask.

"I am fine. Everything is fine…." Dean looked unconvinced.

"Dude. I am…. And he…." Dean didn't move, didn't flinch.

"He is a captive of the state now." Dean closed his eyes.

"Rest easy brother." Sam had more he needed to say. But now wasn't the time. The time didn't come for 5 days until Dean was finally discharged. It had been decided they would recoup with Pastor Jim who was smart enough to bring his truck, the Impala would tow behind much to Dean's dismay.

Dean hadn't spoken much. Wasn't really doing much of anything but making sure Sam stayed in sight. There were little gestures, rigidness in a response to an idea he didn't like. Sam noticed but said nothing. He wasn't trying to leave Dean's side. No one could make him no matter how the nurses or Jim insisted.

…

"I am gonna go get the truck…" Past Jim shuffled away. Sam and Dean were right outside the hospital entrance, Dean propped up by the pillar.

"Man…"

"Sam. I should have." Dean cough. It still burned, probably would for days yet.

"I should have told you. We should have left. Okay. But dad…." Sam wanted to scream. To yell and throw punches. It wasn't what Dean needed though. So, Sam bit his tongue. Dean was talking. This was good.

"Dad said the son of a bitch… was gone. I believed him. Needed to think that…" Sam swallowed. Dean's sight was fixed on the curb. His words still raspy.

"You thought maybe someone else was driving the truck?..." Sam knew that is what Dean would tell himself, because Dean needed to maintain that dad didn't let him down. Didn't lie to him. Not about something like this. But Sam remembered Dean's reaction. Dean knew in the parking lot of the motel that his nightmare wasn't over.

"I don't know what you heard. I wasn't really with it… most the time….."

"I heard enough. Dean. I don't know what to say."

"Sam..." Dean looked in Sam's eyes. His own watering. They were pleading, like a man on his knees before God.

"Sam. Let it go. What you heard. I know you have questions. It wasn't good Sammy. None of it. I can't live it for third time… Ya hear me? I can't…" Two disloyal tears slipped free. Sam's heart broke and got angry simultaneously.

"Alright boys. Time to go." Dean turned his back on Pastor Jim. Sam ran interference.

"Jim. I am gonna sit in the back. Don't want Dean puking on everything with his weak stomach for car sickness. I swear, if he ain't driven…" Dean's shield was up. This all was over for now. It was like watching a transformer. One minute they are one thing, the next, something totally different.

"Oh shut up." The band of three loaded in, baby included. Sam stared out the window. Trying to throw all the memories, the tears, the cries out with every passing mile. But they stuck to his soul. His mind, his ears, his heart, they couldn't unfeel or unsee.

Dean sat in the front. Not speaking. Not moving. At first anyway. He was packing it all deep. He was making excuses for his dad. Why he hadn't just come himself and instead sent Pastor Jim. Why the _man_ had remained alive. He was barricading the part of his soul that wanted to cry and point out the scars it endured over the past days. How he felt violated. How every time he coughed for the rest of his life he would remember that cold hand wrapped around his throat. The word _again_ was ruined forever. How the trauma from his childhood was ripped brutally from the past, plastered naked and raw for him to relive again. The cold. The ropes. The burns. The starvation. The slaps. The kneeling. But no one cared. No one but the young man in the back seat. He would never learn more then he had. Because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for one boy to have gone through such things let alone two. Dean choked it all down. Clamped it tight. Agonizingly pulled on the demeanor of survival.

"Sammy. I know driver picks the tunes and I ain't driver but you are the furthest thing from it. So…."

.

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That is it folks! The last chapter to this one. Let me know what you think if you can. Have a good night!


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